


Honey, I'm Good.

by Jenye



Series: Masters of Disguise [1]
Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, affair, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 23:04:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3873133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenye/pseuds/Jenye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke considers herself happily married.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey, I'm Good.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Bob and Eliza being cutie patooties & the song by the same title. Just a little feel good fun, especially after some creator-inspired drama today. I hope you enjoy! It was a lot of fun to write! (not beta-ed, all faults are mine and mine alone)

He loosens his tie as he maneuvers his way toward the crowded bar of the after party. After party. Someone was using that term loosely when they decided to offer five-star hors d'oeuvres and free booze under club-like lighting and rather underage music for most of the medical professionals dressed in formalwear that now roamed this room freely. He’s not sure who planned this little gathering after the annual suck-up fest, but he’s certain they’re under the age of thirty. Or someone who’s currently sleeping with their midlife crisis and this was cheaper than that Lamborghini they’d been eying. 

Even with the bass low enough to vibrate through his chest and doctors well above his pay grade dancing semi-fluently, this is something well out of his comfort zone. And nothing short of a whiskey is going to ease his nerves. He doesn’t see her until he’s leaning against the lone empty piece of real estate the bar has to offer. He recognizes her instantly. Even completely glamourized in her formfitting black ball gown, she looks just like the professional picture in the programs sitting at every place setting earlier. 

The woman of the evening, they had said as they introduced Dr. Clarke Griffin; the young orthopedic surgeon being recognized for her vicarious studies and cutting edge approach to traumatic injuries in athletes. She was the top of her class in The Alpert Medical School at Brown University. Interned along side some of the brightest minds at John Hopkins Hospital and of course, no woman of the evening would be worth her salt without a little charity time. And she had spent her first year after graduation helping establish procedures for traumatic injuries in Bolivia.

What can he say? It was a dull evening. He had all the time in the world between courses to read up on young Dr. Clarke Griffin. She intrigued him. Sparked his interest. And when she stepped up to the podium it was the first time that evening that he’d actually been glad he arrived — even if it was forty minutes late — to this event. He hadn’t even made it in time to check the official seating chart, instead he simply sunk into the first empty chair he found; a table of anesthesiologists. And after about twenty minutes of small talk in between courses and lectures, he was certain this group went the all-natural approach and simply used their personalities to knock their patients out. 

But when she was finally announced and made her appearance on stage — coming from a table near the front of the room — he’d actually perked up. He adjusted his tie and sat up straight taking her all in. She looked absolutely stunning in her formal gown. The cut of the dress showed off her perfect hourglass shape while the flared material near her hips offered up a bit more sophistication than a simple black dress would. Her golden locks fell just to her shoulders in soft curls and when she reached her destination and turned to face the audience she all but took his breath away.  
Her speech was informative and honestly a bit dull in nature, but her personality and lightheartedness shown through the entire time. He was actually full on smiling by the end when she started thanking those who must have had a large part in her life to help her toward this award. Of course, he was certain she could have done it all on her own. The end came when she thanked her husband in a heartfelt expression — although apparently he wasn’t there to see it, some kind of urgent business matter — and exited off the stage just as gracefully as she came. 

He had joined in the applause when the rest of the room gave her a standing ovation, but his smile faltered slightly when he saw the twinkle of sadness in her eyes after mentioning her absentee husband. What a lousy fool. 

And now there she stood, her smile firmly back in place as she helped form the semi-circle of what he assumed were colleagues carrying on a conversation. His eyes linger a moment longer on her when the bartender finally makes his way to his order.

“Whiskey on the rocks.” He orders seamlessly, “And a dry martini with two onions. No olive.” 

The bartender goes right to work on his order and he moves his attention back to admiring the blonde across the room. She laughs halfheartedly at something one of the older gentlemen has said before turning to speak with the woman to her left. Even in the crowded room she is in a league all her own and he is simply drawn to her in the purest of ways. 

“Here you go, sir.” The bartender regains his attention before he grabs the drinks off the bar. He nods his appreciation and moves himself away just as another person stepped up to take his place. 

And just as if it were fated, she pardons herself from the group and moves toward a quieter part of the room; a small section that has been set up with round pub tables for people to stand around. It’s near the rather crowded dance floor and most that are standing around use the tables to hold their drinks or desired snacks, but she simply rests her small purse atop one of the surfaces. Pulling out her phone. He sees the light of her screen illuminate her face as her lips fall into a frown. 

Weaving through several gyrating bodies, he finally comes into close proximity with the woman of his attention and smiles.

“Don’t worry, I’ve requested the Cha-Cha Slide. It should be coming on any time now.” He opens, placing the martini in front of her. And her startled expression amuses him. Her eyes go wide and her red, glossed lips part slightly in surprise. It’s then he sees just how gorgeous the blue of her eyes is and the smoky black liner only intensifies their beauty. 

He takes a sip of his whiskey and reaches out his free hand to offer it in greeting, “I’m Bellamy. Bellamy Blake.”

Her expression clouds over in brief confusion before she gives a small nod and smirk. She reaches across the small table and grips his hand in hers.

“Clarke Griffin.”

“Doctor Clarke Griffin.” Bellamy corrects, holding her hand briefly as he leans toward her. “I’ve heard all about you.” 

“Oh really?” She quirks an eyebrow, letting his hand drop to grab at her offered martini. “And?”

Bellamy leans back on his heels as he looks up at the ceiling, he gives a thoughtful expression and then shrugs, “You’re quite accomplished for your age; ranked orthopedic surgeon, published several articles, and chair of a prominent non-profit organization that aids medical efforts in South America. I’m thoroughly impressed.”

“Well, thank you.” She says, taking a slow sip of her drink as her eyes openly roam over him. It does nothing but aid in his confidence. 

“There’s just one thing I can’t figure out.”

“And what’s that?”

“What idiot of a husband would let you step out looking this amazing and not demand that you be on his arm so everyone knows you’re his?” Bellamy smirks, heat rising in his veins at the blatant attempt to flirt.

“And what gives you the impression that I’m the kind of woman who lets her husband claim her like property?”

“Oh no, not property.” He shakes his head, “Never property.”

The tension between them is palpable as he moves himself to her side of the small table. He almost expects her to keep a small distance between them, but his bold behavior is met with her own as she simply looks up at him with a daring sparkle in her eyes. Her expression is amused and he can tell in the dim lighting that her pupils are blown wide and it excites him. It pushes him forward. They don’t speak for a long moment and soon she’s looking back toward the now seemingly far off crowd. 

“I’m just saying,” He begins low, nearly against her ear as he looks out upon the crowd as well. “That if it were me, I’d make sure everyone knew that it was me you had chosen to be worthy enough to be your husband in every way.”  
He sees the way her throat bobs and her hands grip at her clutch momentarily before she clears her throat, looking back at him with a heated expression. 

“Well, it was very nice meeting you tonight, Bellamy Blake. But I’m afraid I need to be heading to my room. Early flight home in the morning.” She speaks slowly. “I may have had a bit too much to drink. Would you be so kind as to walk with me back to my room?”

He grins when he feels her tug gently on the lapel of his jacket before turning and heading toward the exit. This night has escalated quite nicely.

“Gladly.” 

\--

Silently he leans against the back of the elevator as he watches her push the button for the fifteenth floor. Neither of them move, her standing just in front of him, as the doors slowly slide closed and lock them away from the rest of the world — even if it’s ever so briefly.

At first it’s only the soft beep of the first two floors passing past them that fills the air until Bellamy pushes himself forward, reaching out for her hand. He expects this slow burn type of build to continue, until she turns on him quickly. Without hesitation her lips find his as she presses her body against his and he’s again leaning back against the wall. 

Bellamy allows her to be in control, her lips parting softly and his tongue dips past them to taste her. The martini and a mix of cinnamon mingle together to form an intoxicating blend that pulls him deeper into this unexpected turn of events. Her fingers tangle into his once tamed curls as his hands wrap soundly around her firm body. Without thinking, his fingers tease the soft flesh of her back just above the bodice of her dress. He feels her shiver and he smiles against her lips. 

When the elevator comes to a slow stop he expects her to pull away from him and allow them both a moment of clarity, but instead she removes herself from his arms only just enough to slide her hands into his as she leads him out into the empty — thank the lord above — hallway. 

Clarke continues to walk backwards as her lips tease lightly against his and when she stumbles they both laugh together as he catches her. Bellamy takes her unsteady moment to pull her to him and press her up against the nearest wall. His hands holding tightly to her hips as his lips drag over the heated flesh of her jaw. Through the haze of his arousal he notices the way her chest heaves against the tightness of her attire, causing her breasts to look practically swallow against the fabric. 

His hips grind against hers unapologetically and she gasps, her own hips responding in kind as she reaches around him to begin to untuck his shirt. When he feels her fingertips against the small of his back he nearly comes undone with the need for her. And the way she’s quickly working the buttons of his shirt beneath his jacket he knows the feeling is mutual. 

It’s not until they hear the ding of the elevator that they realize they’re still very much out in public. And Clarke is the one to break them apart as she pulls him along toward her room. Within an instant, Bellamy has his hands gripping around her waist as he nips at the bare flesh of her shoulders. She leans against him lazily once they reach the door to her room. Reaching for her room key turns out to be rather difficult when she has an extremely attractive man whispering all the filthy things to come once they’re inside. 

She pressing her tight ass against his prominent erection and he groans loudly against her neck. 

“You better get this goddamn door open.” He grounds out. “Our this whole hotel is going to see just how fucking bad I want you.” 

As if on queue, the lock clicks free and Clarke pushes the handle forward. With a rush of air, she turns around to face him. Her lips instantly locking with his as she mumbles, “Prove it.”

Bellamy practically growls as she leads him into the darkness of her room and he can’t kick the door shut fast enough.

\--

The morning light wakes him as he shuffles beneath the sheets of an unfamiliar bed. As Bellamy begins to stretch himself fully awake he notices the familiar ache through his muscles and he can’t help but smile. He reaches to his right, expecting to feel a beautiful form next to him, but instead he finds nothing but cold sheets.

Slowly he sits up, tossing his legs over the side of the bed and reaching for his boxer shorts that have ended up on a nearby lampshade. Clarke has probably blushed profusely at the image of his hunter green underwear hanging on the posh, cream-colored lampshade. Of course, she probably has a lot to blush about over what they had done the night before. Multiple times. 

The first time he took her had been fast and feverous. She’d barely stepped out of her dress before he had her atop the kitchenette table. He made quick work of her laced, strapless bra and attached his lips to her beautiful rosy nipples that practically called for his attention. Her cries of pleasure were like music to his ears. 

Within moments though, they were both fed up with foreplay and Clarke made her needs known by reaching for the belt of his pants. She had his pants at his knees in no time and she was edging herself to the end of the small table. Her panties were simply pushed to the side and when he entered her he knew he was home. Even in their ravished state, the briefest moments of tenderness passed through them as her lips ghosted over his as he filled her completely. But that moment ended in a hungry pace that still sent a thrill through his spine this morning. 

The second time had been an almost accidently-like encounter. They had somehow managed to make it to the couch after their first time and where simply relaxing. It seemed strange after the night that had transpired, but conversation was easy. And soon she was in his lap, lazily riding him as they both simply enjoyed the leisurely pace that allowed them to learn each other all over again. 

And their final time had been one of pure bliss. It happened after what Bellamy assumed was hours of sleep. He woke with Clarke’s glorious mouth wrapped around his half-hard cock and from that moment on he was like a man possessed. His lips memorized her body after that in every way. He teased her to the point of breaking and just when she nearly sobbed his name he entered her at a glacier-like pace. Her knees tucked against his sides as he slowly pumped into her. 

Their foreheads pressed against each other’s. Her hands gripped his biceps as her hips met him thrust for painstaking slow thrust. It was a constant battle. They both craved more, but neither of them wanted it to end. Finally Bellamy snaked one of his hands down between them to tease her swollen clit and it was all over for her. She cried out his name as her back arched. Clarke’s pulsing walls milked his own release from him within another couple of thrusts and they were both officially spent.

Falling back into a dreamless sleep until this morning. 

Bellamy stands at the large wall of windows, his arms crossed over his bare chest as he watches the city below start another day. He is lost deep in thought until he feels a pair of familiar hands wrap around his waist and warm lips press against his shoulder blade.

“Standing in front of the windows in just your underwear, Blake?” She asks, her cheek pressing against his back. “You know I don’t like to share.”

“How well I know.” 

He reaches down to grab her left hand, studying the engagement ring and band set. Her plan, white gold band the perfect feminine match to the one that graced his own left hand. His lips run over her knuckles, lingering just slightly on the ring finger.  
“So Doctor Griffin now that —“

“Doctor Blake.” She corrects him. “As of Monday. I made that decision after hearing Jaha announce me last night — Doctor Griffin is my mother. And I am definitely not my mother.”

“Well I wouldn’t go that far.” He teases, ignoring the swell of pride that fills his chest at the idea of her officially taking his name. They have been married for nearly three years, but she hadn’t wanted to change her name and he hadn’t forced the idea. She was her own, strong woman; and that woman was extremely sexy and eternally his and something as small as a name wouldn’t affect that. 

She pokes him just below his ribs as he chuckles, feeling her lips curl into a smile against him. 

“So tell me about that little act last night?” She asks as he turns to wrap her into his arms. Her voice drops as she mocks his introduction. “I’m Bellamy. Bellamy Blake.”

He laughs outright and holds her tight, his lips dropping to place a kiss to her temple before brushing against the shell of her ear, “Got you pretty hot, didn’t it?” 

“You did that.” Clarke swoons, “I was just glad you could make it back. How did you pull that one off anyway?”

“CIA’s home office needed an extra hand. I volunteered. Got me out of Bolivia a couple weeks early. And it looks like after we get back from this little weekend trip, I’ll be grounded for the next several months. Apparently DC’s office is going through some heavy protocol changes. All hands on deck.” 

“Months of uninterrupted husband time?” Clarke looks up at him with a devious grin as she pushes out of his arms, starting to undo the thin belt of her bathrobe. “Whatever will we do?”

Bellamy smirks, stalking forward like a predator to his pray.

“I think I have a couple ideas.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Like always, come say hi over on Tumblr (fourfinick)!


End file.
